Piecemealed: the Life of Davina Claire
by SheHatesWriting
Summary: Davina Claire is unobjectively one of the most beautiful, dynamic characters in the Originals. Due to my love for her and the series, this is a bunch of little pieces and parts I put together of her life. Some of it will make sense to you, others won't. Read it if you want, but it's mostly for my own enjoyment. Thanks. :)
1. Youth

**A/N: Here's the deal, guys, I don't update…rarely do I ever. I have three stories I would love to come back to and work on, but I never find the time, motivation to do so. But this book of pieces and parts of Davina's life, I figured would be easy: all you gotta do, is write some shit and upload it. It's all part of the same story, it won't ever be in order, some of it will be part of a plot I'm mowing over in my head, some of it won't make sense, but it's all I can do right now. Thanks**

Her tiny hand was cusped in that of her mother's, practically too small to reach across the length of her palm, but she somehow managed to cling to those long and elegant piano fingers. The little girl's mother dragged her behind her, her heels clicking furiously against the pavement of the sidewalk. She could feel her mother's ritual dress whipping against the side of her legs, softly caressing her baby skin. She loved her mother's dress… It was long and white—she looked like a princess. Sometimes, when they were home, her mother would allow her to touch it, run her fingers along the thick lace and beaded chemise beneath. She would ask her mother if she'd ever be allowed to wear it and her mother would simply smile and ruffle her hair, while saying: "One day, my sweet girl." But she never knew what that meant. One day? What "one day?" One day sounded almost…scary—like there was a monster holding that phrase, cradling it in his claws. The thought sent a shiver down her spine and she moved her eyes to look up at her mother, wanting to hear her voice—feel her comfort.

"Mama, where are we going?" She asked her softly, feeling like to speak any louder would break the frightening silence that had seemed to settle over everything.

"Quiet, Davina." She snapped at her, a hard whisper breaking through her gritted teeth. There was a force behind her mother's words, and Davina was smart enough not to push against it. But there was a certain curiosity behind her mother's gritted whisper… She only made that sound when she was afraid. So, why was she?

Davina turned her head to look behind her, glancing around the darkened alley in their wake. Her bright green eyes flickering from the tops of buildings to the shadows trailing after them. But she couldn't seem to notice anything out of the ordinary… Except for one thing: it was silent. The one thing about her city was that it was never silent—it gave a new definition to the phrase: "the city that never sleeps." New Orleans was eternal, endless, and beat to its own heart… Which is why she realized there was something wrong. Her mother could feel that strange silence, too, feel the emptiness of the city.

"Mom…?" She questioned her mother, yet again, tugging on her hand. There was a rising sense of panic within her chest that blocked off her airways, as she felt the balmy night air become extremely heavy. "Mom… Why is it quiet?" She asked once more, her fear causing her voice to shake.

"Darling, please, just—" Her mother began, only to halt in her tracks as a catatonic state seemingly overtook her. She shoved Davina into the thick folds of the lace and silk of her dress, hidden from view. She could feel her mother's magic wash over her in a warm and comforting embrace, obscuring her from view under a cloaking spell. It was very uncharacteristic of her mother to do as such, as she wanted her to develop magic herself. But by Davina's fifth birthday, she still had not shown signs of magic or even any form of affinity for witchery. She knew her mother was embarrassed, and as a result, would often force her to try to conjure magic that she didn't have, let alone feel. Bastianna, the Elder of their coven, had always said that magic was a "feeling," not simply a gift.

But there was no magical feeling, now, as Bastianna had always told her of, and she assumed her mother knew that too. Which is why she was hidden beneath the glimmering wisps of her mother's magic, but it still didn't explain what her mother was afraid of. Her mother was not one to be easily spooked. None of the witches ever were. Davina poked her head out from behind her mother's dress and caught sight of a shadowy figure. She couldn't make out the features on his face from the hard, yet dim light of the lamppost above him… But she could feel something curl up inside of her, shrinking back like a reflex. It was a feeling so deeply rooted within her, that it could have been something as intimate as her very heart. She gripped tightly onto her mother's dress as her heart began to skip beats, hammering against her chest so hard she could feel it shaking her tiny hands.

Her mother cocked her head and crossed her arms, all the fear that Davina had noticed minutes ago, had fled from her face, and all that remained was a cold and steely glare. The little girl couldn't say she hadn't experienced that look—it was terrifying when it was directed towards you. But the man obscured beneath the dim light, didn't seem too frightened, and he stood at an angle that almost made Davina think he never would be afraid…like all the fear had drained out of him.

"Marcel Gerard." Her mother's cool voice left her tongue like a song, whimsical and powerful.

"Sojourn Claire." The man began to walk over to her and her mother, slowly, taking each step at a time like a pendulum swing clicking against itself. His boots hit the pavement in deep and steady paces, until finally, after what felt like the longest moment of Davina's short life, he stood before her and her mother. She could see the fine details of his face, now. He was handsome like Prince Charming with his high cheekbones and almond-shaped eyes, but his voice sounded like it was laced with poison. "Do you have any idea how late it is?" A smile slid across his face that was like a coiled snake, expanding into a long and dangerous form. "It's not safe for little witches to be out this late…" He whispered to her, his finger reaching out to trace over his mother's cheekbone. Her mother yanked her face away out of his touch, but her hard candy-green eyes snapped up to meet his, never missing a beat.

"Last I checked, I can handle myself, Gerard." She said coldly, but that same powerful force of magic clouded her words. Davina could feel herself shudder against her mother, not wanting to ever hear that voice again. "But I do thank you for your concern." Sojourn remarked smartly.

Marcel seemed to find that entertaining as he broke into laughter at her response, beginning to shake his head. "You witches… You're all the same, you know that? You think you run this city, when really—" he grabbed hold of her throat as a sudden annoyance washed across his face—"you don't know the first thing about running anything, not even your own damn covens." He threw her mother down onto the cement, Sojourn's head smacking against the pavement with a hard snap and she released a sharp cry of pain. The obscuring spell that had been hiding Davina was suddenly ripped off of her, and she was left cold and vulnerable. She felt the panic rise in her chest once more as she sprinted to her mother, trying her best to pull her up from the ground. A frigid sense of terror was settling over her—if she couldn't get her mother to move—what would Marcel do? Her bright, emerald-green eyes cut to Marcel's instantly to see him standing there with a look of shock on his face.

For a moment, Davina and Marcel just stared at each other, and then the little girl felt something within the belly of her gut begin to liquidize like kerosene meeting a match. She could feel it begin to tingle there, moving across her body like electric pulses, filling her up until there was a raging fire within her… And then that's all there was: fire—pure and vibrant fire. She narrowed her eyes at the man as she attempted to mimic her mother's icy stare.

"You hurt my mom…" Her voice cut clear through the silence of that moment.

"Hey, kid, I didn't know Sojourn had a daughter." He said silently. "I don't hurt kids, I—"

But Davina wasn't going to listen, anymore. She didn't know much about this man, or really why her mother seemed to display so much animosity towards him. But he had been mean. He had hurt her mother, and now, he would feel that same pain she felt. She cried out as the fire that had liquidized in her palms, pass through her skin, filling up her veins and arteries until she _was_ fire. " _Leave my mom alone_!" She screamed at him, cutting his words short and then throwing a massive ball of explosive fire at him. Marcel disappeared at the mere sight of her flame, and scampered off into the night.

Davina felt the magic drain from her, and all that was left was an empty sense of exhaustion, and she dropped to her knees beside her mother. "Mommy…" She whispered through a cracked and chapped voice. "Mama?" She shook her unconscious mother's shoulder, desperately. "Mom!" She screamed at her, her hands filling with a bright and flashing light, as she pounded on her mother's shoulder. " _Mommy, wake up_!" The light bounced from Davina's hands and sunk into Sojourn's skin, her mother's eyes broke open immediately. At the first sight that her mother was okay, the little girl fled into her mother's arms, holding onto her tightly.

"Mommy, I was so worried…" She said softly. "I was so worried you were going to die… You looked like you were dead, and I thought you—"

"Sweetheart, Davina… Did you…? Did you perform magic?" Her mother's face was disoriented and confused, perhaps even a little overwhelmed. "My darling Davina…" Her face broke into a proud smile, as her warm hands clasped around her daughter's tiny face. "You're a witch." She laughed, tears came to her dark green eyes and welled over the rims, running down her cheek. "And you've saved us all…" She pulled her tiny child into her arms, holding her head against her chest, cupping her head with her hand. "You've saved us all, Davina…" She whispered into her ear, leaving a warm trail of light in its wake.


	2. Darkness

Then, there was just blackness. A sheer, undulating darkness that seemed to swallow you up inside. Was there even an inside left of what she was? _She—_ What did _she_ used to be? Suddenly, a thousand little pieces of bright, glimmering light floated around her. What were they? She attempted to reach out, but instead of her moving forward, it seemed the pieces moved towards her. She stepped inside and found herself within a

She _was suddenly within an abandoned greenhouse, where rain was hitting the window. Plants flourished everywhere, but none seemed to be from a place that was closeby—_ but then again, how could she know? _It was a jungle of exotic beauty as vines hung from pillars, flowers of all colors and assortments burst forth from cracks in the sidewalk, and birds seemed to have holed up huge nests in the corners of the building. It was wild, raw, and yet,_ She appreciated it _._ She had been here before. _It was home. The warm, soft strings of tea lights hung overhead through the rafters created a cozy atmosphere. It was clear, this place had something the world no longer seemed to possess: life._

 _And there, nestled amongst the densest of trees, was a chestnut-haired young girl—beautiful, of course—who was bent studiously over a large book, seemingly studying the dense text. A firm crease was chiseled into her brow as she bit down on the top of her pencil's eraser. Her mother hated when she did that._ It's disgusting. _Her mother would scold her, before sending her a "you're enternally scorned" face her with that wicked look of hers. The young woman pulled the pencil from her mouth, and smirked at the thought of her mother's words_

" _How's the Latin going?" A voice called from the outreaches of the room, before another young girl with mad curls entered the greenhouse. The chestnut-haired girl looked up to see the other girl enter and an annoyed look came across her face._

" _Unbearable. Why do the elders think 'Latin' should still be a thing? It's a 3,000 year old language—anything older than a thousand years should probably just accept that it's kind of outdated." She admitted to her friend._ Yeah, they had been friends for nearly their entire lives. They knew each other better than anyone else.

 _The curly-haired girl was laughing at her. "I don't know, Davina—tradition?"_

" _Okay,_ yes _, Monique, I get it—it's 'traditional.' But so is misogyny, and no one's particularly excited about that one." Davina closed the massive tome, seemingly finished for the night._

 _As Monique began to double-over in laughter, Davina offered a brief, but genuine smile_. _"It's true," she_ said as _she grabbed her bag that was beside her on the chair, swinging it across her shoulder. "Tradition isn't everything—they're bound to die out sometime."_

" _But I think it's a bit different with us," Monique told her friend with an entertained smile. "After all, there's no other witches on earth, like us."_

 _Davina gave a half shrug as they began to walk out of the greenhouse—the lights strung overhead slowly blackened as they passed beneath them. "I don't know, I think everyone thinks of themselves as special…that's why we have to rely on tradition—it sets apart… But really, I think we all just want to seem special enough that we're not_ ordinary. _"_

" _I was with you until you started sounding like Dr. Phil…"_

And then it was gone. She found herself in the darkness once more. The pocket of light She had just stepped out of seemed to be pulsing with its own heartbeat, it almost felt like it was tangible, graspable. She could take it—use it to piece together whatever this was. But, in a flash of radiant, iridescent light, it was gone. The piece of whatever had been there had disappeared. And somehow, though She couldn't remember it, She knew it had been relevant. It had been a lost part of something…

If only she could _remember…_


End file.
